sit on the floor of my striped rug, the one with my favorite colors and see us gathered in His hands. I share with women who sit on the couch where my kids plop down and I pile up my unfolded laundry each week. I lean my back against cool plaster wall and hear the familiar story–completely personal and perfectly unique and totally all of ours all at once.
We gather, our heart’s cry to be loved.
We gather, the voice of our own broken heart.
We gather, desperate to be pursued and loved, yet also called to love and to be the pursuer.
Oh, girl, I know. I know.
I invite people He brings into my home for the incourage (in)RL conference, on Saturday. I am excited to meet women I’ve never met. They register their names on the meetup site to tell me they are coming. In addition to four dear friends–some of whom I get to see face-to-face too seldom–one of the three brave strangers comes. And there is something amazing about opening up your home–your heart–and saying come on in. I don’t know you yet–but He does–and I trust Him, so I will welcome you and love you, too.
And, oh, girls, how He gathers, doesn’t He? We aren’t strangers here. Not at all.
I write this post with my throat aching like it does when the tears come. I pray before I write that He gives me words–that I speak His heart . . .always, His heart. And I am learning now, in the emails I receive from sisters who receive Loop but who may never comment on this here blog . . . there are women whom He loves who just–oh, Father–simply, need to know they are loved.
But letting ourselves be known and loved is just not so easy, sometimes, is it?
Oh, girl. I type these words for you. We can’t all come into each other’s living rooms when we want to. We can’t all see each other face to face . . . until that one day, girl. Until that one day–that will, indeed, come–and we can.
But until then, there is loneliness, and there is fear. There is isolation and sadness of heart. There is frustration and self-condemnation and suffering and hiding.
Oh, Father, get us out of hiding. Show us where You are.
But, girl–you, here, behind the screen–I write to you. I write to you because I know what it is like to feel alone and what it is like to hide. I know what it is like to want to be someone completely different than I am. I know what it is like to strive and yearn and do almost anything–anything–to be loved.
I wish you could have come on over to my home on Saturday. I wish you could have walked up my bumpy driveway, with the faded chalk art and up the three steps to the porch of my little gray house. I wish I could have opened up the door and seen your face and welcomed you in with the biggest hug, His arms wrapped around us both.
I wish I could have prayed with you and offered you a vanilla bean cupcake with frosting piled high. I wish I could have heard you tell your story and share with you mine. I wish I could have told you how community can scare me because I don’t know what it will require. I wish I could have told you I am so thankful you are here, in all your broken wholeness. I wish we could share together the details of why we are so desperate for Him and thankful for the way He heals. Oh, girl, yes, He heals.
I wish I could have heard what you love to do for fun, what makes your heart beat fast, and what fears come in the night. I wish I could have seen your smile, the sparkle in your eyes when you share what you love most, and the movement of your hands. I wish I could have heard the sound of your voice and been blessed by just being with you. Oh, girl, you would bless me.
But for now, I lay on the floor in the dark, my hands on these keys in the front room where I would have first let you in. And you are here now. For real. Because He does amazing things and knows how to gather, for real, even if it is just behind a screen right now.
Maybe, this moment, we hold as a gift . . .because more is just around the corner for us, friend.
He is enough.
And someday, friend, I will get to see you. And we will hold hands and sing loud and there will be no distance, no separation, no disunity.
We will be one. In real Life.
I can hardly wait.
What is the hardest thing or most beautiful thing about community, for you? I would so love to hear your heart. We can also connect over at You Are My Girls community, on Facebook. . . and you can see the photo of the six of us, on Saturday! :)